


Envisage

by lanyrainicorn



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams and Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyrainicorn/pseuds/lanyrainicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morning was Jean’s favorite part of the day, for many reasons: the way the first sun rays of the morning looked shining in from between the dusty curtains, that first stretch of the day, loosening his muscles that were stiff from sleep, and especially the last, fleeting snapshots of a sweet dream, those perfectly blurred moments that seem so close, but not quite close enough to reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Envisage

Morning was Jean’s favorite part of the day, for many reasons: the way the first sun rays of the morning looked shining in from between the dusty curtains, that first stretch of the day, loosening his muscles that were stiff from sleep, and especially the last, fleeting snapshots of a sweet dream, those perfectly blurred moments that seem so close, but not quite close enough to reach. As silly as it seemed, Jean looked forward to these things when he fell asleep at night. They filled him with a giddy sort of happiness that was so rare in these dangerous and terrifying times.

But none of these little indulgences could compare with the way his chest swelled with adoration when he rolled over to see his sleepy, beautiful boyfriend curled up beside him, huddled up and tangled in their thick blankets like they were his lifeline.

Being a member of the Military Police could be boring at the best of times and a pain in the ass at the worst, but it did come with certain perks that Jean never hesitated to take advantage of. One of said perks being the freedom that all members were granted at their enlistment: the freedom to choose their own roommate. Of course there was no question that Jean and Marco would share a room, seeing as they’d been inseparable for the better part of five years.

Jean never once regretted joining the brigade, though his thoughts did sometimes drift to the friends he’d made during his time as a trainee. Jean received the occasional letter from Armin or Connie, especially when something noteworthy or exciting happened outside the walls, but things had been quiet lately and he hadn’t gotten any mail in a while.

He tried not to think the worst.

Jean rolled over, nuzzling his nose against the warm skin of Marco’s neck and smiled when the brunette let slip a soft sigh. Good, he was awake.

Jean sat up and danced his fingers across the field of freckles that dotted Marco’s tanned shoulders, connecting them and making shapes as he went. “Mornin’, sleepyhead. Get enough rest?”

The only reply he got at first was shuffling as Marco tried to burrow his way further into the cocoon he’d made for himself. Jean let out a breathy chuckle, wrapping his arms around the giant lump of linens and Marco. After a few minutes it appeared that his boyfriend has come back to life, mumbling a muffled, “Time’s it?” into his pillow.

“Mmm, early.” Jean glanced at the clock on their nightstand. “Clock says six.”

Marco just groaned in response. “God, it should be illegal to be awake before noon. You think that’s something we could enforce?” Jean laughed again, loud and happy as he lifted layer after layer of fabric until he eventually hit something human-shaped and vaguely coherent.

“Come out, babe. Still got a few hours until our patrol starts.” Yet another reason Jean loved mornings. Waking up at the ass crack of dawn wasn’t so bad when it mean he had plenty of time to do whatever he pleased with Marco before they went on duty. If he could coax the sleepy boy awake, of course. This particular morning, Jean wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in anything Marco related for the foreseeable future.

The Marco-blanket-hybrid yawned and stretched his arms above his head as he finally emerged, head popping out from his nest and hair sticking up stubbornly in every direction but the right one. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, because if I had my way I’d still be sleeping.” He smiled drowsily, tongue poking out from between his teeth in a familiar gesture that Jean could never tire of.

Jean leaned down to plant a kiss on those perfect, plump lips that he knew better than his own and Marco hummed, lifting his head to chase Jean’s lips when he tried to pull away. Jean couldn’t help the shit eating grin that broke out across his face.

“How the fuck did I get so lucky?” Jean asked, mostly to himself, as he obliged, hovering over his boyfriend to smooth his tongue along Marco’s bottom lip.

Years ago, Jean never would’ve imagined himself with someone like Marco. Where Jean was brash and peevish, Marco was soft-spoken and patient to a fault. Jean was quick to anger and often said things he didn’t mean, but Marco always remained unshakably calm, and he took everything Jean said with a grain of salt. Jean held grudges and made enemies everywhere he went; Marco forgave without reservations and never met a stranger.

They were opposites in every sense of the word, but they got along like tea and sugar; they were each other’s perfect complement, and as cliché as it sounded, they completed one another.

Marco never had been one for flattery, but when he scoffed and rolled his eyes at the blatant compliment, Jean leveled him with a deadpan stare.

“I’m serious, Marco. Never met someone quite as perfect as you. I love everything about you,” Jean said. Marco opened his mouth to protest, but Jean was always one step ahead. He pressed his lips to Marco’s, tender and full of obvious affection. “I love your insanely soft lips. I love your big ass doe eyes. I love every single damn freckle on your beautiful fucking face.” Jean may not have been the most eloquent in his speech, but his words were so full of adoration and honesty that it made Marco blush. Between each sentence he stopped to press a gentle kiss to each part of Marco’s face. “Everything about you is beautiful. Your hands,” he laced their fingers together, “your mind,” he leaned down to press their foreheads together, locked his honey brown eyes with the dark chocolate of Marco’s, “and especially your heart.” He rested his other hand on Marco’s chest, fingers splayed out, his pale skin stark against Marco’s dark complexion.

For a moment they just lay there, content to stare into each other’s eyes until Jean started scattering more kisses, feather light, all over Marco’s freckles, which he could sometimes swear were twinkling. The brunette giggled, amused by Jean’s overt affection (and maybe the kisses tickled a little, too).

“Hey,” he said, looking back into Marco’s shining eyes, rich and brown and full of life, like the softest earth. He ghosted his lips over Marco’s a final time, whispering against them, “I love _you_ , ya know. Forever.”

He felt Marco’s lips curl into what he knew was a blindingly charming beam. “Love you, too, Jean. Forever.”

Jean shifted back to lie down, settling easy against a broad, familiar chest, feeling himself warm from the inside out. He sighed, satisfied to stay wrapped in strong arms for as long as Marco would have him. They snuggled close, dozing contently, knowing that even when they woke, rested and undoubtedly late for their shift, they’d begin the day just like they liked: together.

Forever.

 

 

Unfortunately, things aren’t always what they seem, and forever is just a farfetched ideal. Night is Jean’s least favorite time of day, because this is when he remembers that this is fact.

Jean hates the night for many reasons. He hates when he wakes up shaking, covered in sweat, room dark, lungs heaving, unexpected tears dripping endlessly off his chin. He hates the cloudy fog that shrouds his mind, a fuzzy disconnect between fantasy and reality. He hates that wraithlike figure in the back of his mind, its face hazy and hair black as ink.

Most of all, he hates the moment of realization. He hates feeling that his desires are just within reach, mind buzzing with the sensation of hearty freckles and infectious laughter, soft lips and hands on his own, only to have them snatched from him in an instant. It stings to know that these are all impressions conjured up by his sanguine mind. He never got to experience these things; they aren’t memories, they’re wishful thinking – hopes shot down before they had a true start, haunted by the acrid scent of phantom smoke and the imaginary crackle of burning logs.

Jean ruffles his hair and curses, a pitiful, defeated sound, and one of bitter and reluctant awareness.

It’s at night that Jean accepts the truth:

Sometimes a sweet dream is more painful than a nightmare.

**Author's Note:**

> <3
> 
> visit my [tumblr](http://lanyrainicorn.tumblr.com) and talk about dumb anime boys with me


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